A Hunger Games Without Katniss
by All ends are beginings
Summary: This is an the hunger games in an alternante dimension where Katniss never existed. Please Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**

 **None of the characters are mine, they all belong to Suzanne Collins, author of "The Hunger Games". I do not claim ownership of any of the settings or characters in this book.**

 **This takes place in an alternate "Hunger Games" universe where Katniss never existed, therefore she never volunteered for Prim.**

 **Rated K+ for some violence. WARNING! SAD!**

I close my eyes and see the colors behind them. Blue, purple, green, and orange dance on my closed eyelids. I have been told that if you hope something enough, it will come true. I have never hoped anything more than now. I can't go to the hunger games, I just can't. I can't kill a person, I would die right away. My mother would have no one. I open my eyes.

"Mom," I call, "It's time to go!" My mother emerges from her room. She looks just as nervous as I feel, if not more.

"There's hardly a chance they'll pick you," she says, it sounds more like she's trying to assure herself than me, "this is your first year. Your first year, Prim" A sob enters her voice, but she pushes it back. My mother has never been completely stable, but she is trying to hold it together for me. This makes me feel horrible.

In silent unison, we both turn toward the door of our small house. Out of the corner of my eye, I see our cupboard. It is completely empty. I'm good at collecting berries, but I've never been very good at hunting. My father was, he's gone now. In a way, I sort of wish I am chosen for the hunger games, if I come back alive, then my mother and I will have as much food as we wish. But, there is the tiniest chance that I come back alive. At least if I die then my mom will have only herself to care for. No, that is foolish. I scold myself for thinking in such a way.

My thoughts are interrupted as we get to the center square. Standing higher than anyone else, is Effie. I know who she is, I have been forced to watch this ceremony for years. Of course, before this, my own life has never been on the line. I have wached, year after year after year, as one boy and one girl, randomly selected, would be dragged off to their almost certain doom. Not a single one of them came back alive. Their family and the rest of division twelve would grieve for them. Although, those of reaping age would be secretly relieved that it was those people dying and not themselves.

"And may all the odds be in your favour." I was, once again, savagely ripped out of my thoughts by the woman. I had missed her entire speech, I was glad. I hated her speech. I know it is wrong to hate people, but I have come very close to hating this woman who, year after year, ripped children away from their families and lives and shipped them off to doom.

Effie trotted over to the place where she would draw the names. "First," she said, in a sickeningly high-pitched and cheery voice, "the female tribute." Her hand reached into the bucket of names. I trembled. I was shaking uncontrollably. "Primrose Everdeen." Time stopped. No, no this could not be happening. I must have imagined it, I must be so overcome by fear that I had imagined it.

But no, everyone was looking at me. My mother shouted out, so in pain that my heart almost ripped in two. No, I couldn't have imagined it. As if in a trance, my legs moved without my mind telling them to. _No! I_ screamed at myself. _No, stop moving, you cannot do this, you cannot kill people!_

Against my will, I walk up to the platform and stand next to Effie as she applauds me. I close my eyes again. The colors are performing a different dance now. Not the dance of hope and dread, but the dance of my impending doom. I can hardly hear the name of the male candidate. Everything around me is blurry, but my own thoughts are crystal clear. I know what's going to happen, and I know I'm going to die. But a plan starts forming in my head. I had always been very persuasive. Many people would die, but many people are going to die anyway. And we might be able to take the tradition of the hunger games, or at least a significant amount of the capital's pride, down with us.

I am on the train. My mother has just left from saying goodbye to me. She had cried, I had not. It was already hard for her, I didn't want to make it harder. I was terribly sorry, but there was no way that I would ride this train back home alive. The boy whose name had been called out after mine walked into my stall on the train. I remembered him slightly, his name was Peeta. He worked in the bread shop, I walked by that shop most days. I would inhale the scent of the bread, and either my stomach would be filled with the illusion of food, making me happy, or my stomach would be reminded of its hunger.

"Hello," he said, stretching out his hand to shake mine, "I'm Peeta."

"I'm Prim." I responded, shaking his hand. Well, if I was going to tell everyone about the plan, now fully formed in my head, now would be the time to start. "We need to talk." I told him. He sat down next to me and I told him my plan.

"It might work," he said when I was done, worry drenching his voice. "but I don't know if you'll be able to convince the other tributes."

"I'll try," I responded, "I have to."


	2. To end it all

**Hi, I am a new writer and your guys' comments mean so much to me. Thank you. I'm sorry if the sequence of events doesn't match the hunger games because I haven't read it in a while. And if Prim has changed a bit I do imagine that she would be different, more self-sufficient, if Katniss isn't around. And-sorry Gale fans-I don't think I'll be able to incorporate him into this.**

"I'm Haymitch," A man with drunken eyes and a stern face looked down on us. "I'll be your trainer."

The training was a blur and I wasn't very good at most of it. I was no good with any weapons they gave me. The only part I excelled at was basket weaving and berry-collecting. I was fairly sure that I got ranked last. Finally, the first interviewing day came. My stylists had put my hair into a simple loose braid with roses weaved into it, and dressed me up in in a white dress. They also put things on my face, the stylists called it "makeup". My eyelashes were now darker and my eyelids a pale shade of white. My lips were three shades more red.

When I looked in a mirror, I hardly recognized myself. I had to stifle a sob as I wondered if my mother would even know me as she was watching from home. But I liked the dress. It was a simple beautiful white, when I twirled colors peeked out from beneath the frills. They reminded me of the colors that always danced beneath my eyelids. I wondered what song they would be dancing to if I closed my eyes right now. Most likely the song of my death, for that was inevitable. But I didn't have time to lounge around. I had to get to the interview.

"So, Primrose, is it?" A man in a suit was talking to me.

"I go by Prim," I told him. I hated how soft and fragile my voice sounded. But then again, I was soft and fragile. The only possible way for anything good for me to come out of this hunger games was my plan.

"Do you have any family you left behind."

"Yes, my mother." The night went on like that. With him asking questions and me giving bland, straightforward answers. At least I had the satisfaction of knowing that I didn't entertain the capitol.

That night, I told the other tributes of my plan. I was sure that if everyone had the courage enough to go along with it, my plan could rid everyone of the hunger games forever. Almost all the tributes said yes, with a bit of convincing. The ones that didn't say yes told me they'd think about it. I asked them to get back to me as soon as the could.

I hate fire. Fire is a destructive force that cannot be tamed. Fire rages through everything. It shows no mercy, it kills everything in it's path. When they told me that they were going to light me on fire, I nearly fainted. I knew it was far less scary than what I was going to do once the hunger games started, but I was still completely terrified. Then, they did it. I was in the wagon, next to Peeta. Flames race up my arms and legs. I stifled a scream. I was terrified that the fire was going to burn away all my skin, leaving me a corpse of a girl, flaying me alive. When it was over, I almost cried with relief.

After that, everyone who hadn't said yes signaled me in some way. All of them agreeing to my plan. I still hated myself for what I was about to do. I wondered what I would be remembered as. A hero, the girl that started the revolution that overthrew the capitol. Or a villain, the horrible girl who caused the death of many people. Maybe, if people did try to overthrow the capitol, inspired by my acts, would all the inevitable deaths in the revolution be my fault?

A uniformed capitol worker took me down, to the platform on which I would rise into the arena. I wondered how many people would go along with my plan. If even a single person was to scared, my plan would fail. I wouldn't blame them if they were to scared. I was shaking uncontrollably. I stepped on the platform and closed my eyes. Possibly for the last time, colors danced beautifully on my closed eyelids. I rose up into the arena.

"They are tyrants!" I yelled at the top of my lungs as soon as everyone was in the arenas and the cameras were rolling. Everyone in every district was required to watch this, so my message would get to all of them. "The capitol had controlled us for too long! We will not be controlled! We will not be pawns in the capitol's cruel game! Let this act of resistance release us from this game of death, but more importantly let us inspire you to release yourselves! RESIST!"

With that final word, I closed my eyes so that I might see the dancing colors one last time. As my two final syllables rolled off my tongue, I took a step forward. My eyes were closed, but I could feel all the tributes moving together. One step, that was all it took. I hoped my mom would be okay without me. I hoped my actions would cause good rather than bad. I stepped of the platform, and the colors behind my eyes stopped dancing and went up in one big explosion.


End file.
